


Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow

by Winterkript



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Drowning, Established Relationship, Holy Water, M/M, Memory Loss, Rating May Change, Recovery, Semi-Canonical Character, Semi-Canonical Character(s), Semi-Original Character(s) - Freeform, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-11-16 13:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterkript/pseuds/Winterkript
Summary: There were Aziraphale and Crowley. And another? Neither would actually know if you were to ask them. However, there were things happening that would suggest Crowley still felt repercussions from being an angel. That was if you asked Aziraphale. If you asked Crowley, he would say they were happenings that had always occurred.Or... A few years after the failed Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley are living their lives as peacefully as before (though with fewer borders between them). They plan to truly have a life together. That's until Crowley starts acting off after a meeting with an angel and two demons. Aziraphale would say what happened to Crowley is beyond a miracle while at the same time dreading the attention they've drawn from both Heaven and Hell. And Crowley? Well, he'd say they're fucked.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the fandom and I haven't read many other fics from it so if this has been done before, I apologize. The tags might be enough of a hint of what will happen? If the backdating feature worked, I'd be posting this on Friday with the next chapter but oh well. It offered to save but the save would be deleted on Tuesday so it still wouldn't last till Friday... Next chapter shouldn't take too long to get out. It's written but needs a bit of editing. I just don't want the prologue to stand alone for too long. 
> 
> Anyhow... this fic is named after Freddie Mercury's "Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow".

_ Samson went back to bed _

_ Not much hair left on his head _

_ He ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed _

_ And the history books forgot about us and the bible didn’t mention us _

_ And the bible didn’t mention us, not even once _

* * *

There was a time when the skies were absent. A time when you look up at night and there was not a star in the sky. 

That was before the archangel Raphael was born. 

After his first appearance, stars were visible in the sky every night. There were others who helped but he was the one to do most of the work. There were periods of time when he was out, building system after system before appearing once more. 

Many angels didn’t want to be around him, anyway. Some said that any room with him in it felt oppressive; too small for whatever power Raphael held. Others didn’t mind being around him, saying they could taste the power and creation and freedom rolling off him in waves. Some of the angels stuck with jobs in Heaven thirsted to be near him for that taste of freedom. 

Because he wasn’t around as often as the other archangels, many didn’t actually know what he looked like. There was feeling oppressive in smallish rooms with him but his looks began to change. His hair was rich and touched by natural waves, fairly vibrant in color. He was described to always wear the dust of the cosmos – his creation – with him wherever he went. His wings were large in scale and discolored from elements he put together to make stars. 

Times when Raphael was actually guaranteed to be around found him enjoying the company of angels who would have him. Many described his personality to be fun, friendly, and open to all who were willing to be in return. He enjoyed conversation and entertained with his abilities, usually starting to create a star before he leaves so the angels around could see what it actually looked like. A few angels disproved but he never stopped, for the angels who enjoyed the spectacle far outweighed the ones who didn’t want to see it. 

The other archangels got along with him fine. Only a few actively avoided him while the others may have engaged him when he was around. A few of them helped build systems but left most of the work to him. A few other angels also lent themselves but they didn’t have as much power as archangels so they weren’t always _ that _ useful. 

Raphael was an archangel with a reputation. Any angel could’ve said that. Good or bad? It was up to who you talked to. 

Many angels could actually say that Raphael was rebellious; he didn’t want to follow orders, he only wanted to do his own things. If it wasn’t creating stars and enjoying the company of some other angels, then he didn’t want to do it. Chances were he most likely wouldn’t do it, too, unless another angel – most likely an archangel – had to drag him along for the job. Other angels said he could be easy to work with but that would be because they never worked together. Remaining angels said he was a blast and those angels never actually worked with him, only hung around him when he returned to Heaven. 

If other archangels had anything to say about it, they would say Raphael was a slacker. After all, he rarely followed orders and pretty much _ only created stars and _ ** _slacked off_ ** . There _ was _ a time when he hung around Lucifer when Lucifer was still an angel. _ That _ was kept on the down-low not only because he was an archangel but because it was too sensitive of a matter. He _ hung around _ Lucifer and the other angels who were ready to rebel. Not Raphael, though. He just grew bored when he started to get grounded in Heaven for staying out all the time to create instead of pulling some of his weight like the other angels did. 

Wasn’t his fault he was gifted with the power to create. Didn’t help that he seemed to be one of the few angels with imagination, too… 

Lucifer had a silver tongue that attracted Raphael like those soft little flying bugs to a flame. It wasn’t his fault that Lucifer could create beautiful stories and poetry on the spot. They were original creations that had Raphael drawn in. And… there was that. 

Lucifer had gathered angels who were almost like him or who looked up to him because they couldn’t be like him. They looked up to him with doe eyes that Raphael recognized because of his own following shone the same eyes after him. Maybe that should’ve been a sign. 

Raphael was too enraptured by Lucifer’s ideas and words when it happened. Lucifer’s rebellion. The other angel had used his gift of words to get Raphael on his side. He spoke logically and he made total sense of why Heaven was messed up and why God shouldn’t be the one in charge. All those times they met, Raphael never saw their talks and meetings going farther than just that; talks. They simply _ talked _ about Heaven and God and why She would be better as an angel. 

Lucifer had gathered enough of a following by the time he last spoke with Raphael before the rebellion. Their final meeting ended as a comfortable talk, just the two of them, before Raphael departed with a smile, getting a _ very _ warm smile in return. Then, the next day, Lucifer rebelled. 

At the time, Raphael and Lucifer had spent a great deal of time together. Maybe Raphael was corrupted at the time of Lucifer’s rebellion because he had the angel whispering sweet words and grand proposals to him. With Lucifer's words and ideas and Raphael’s creation and power, they could create grand things. Grand things, like all of Raphael's previous creations, was what Raphael wanted. His stars were admired greatly at first, and they still were by a few groups of angels, but Lucifer promised they could create something grander, together, that angels would marvel at for years and years and years to follow… 

Raphael never expected a rebellion. A rebellion wasn’t a creation. Rebellions destroyed creations. Rebellions were a type of creation, yes, but it wasn’t what Raphael thought Lucifer would create. He enjoyed being an angel, he didn’t want to destroy others. 

All because of Lucifer, he was scorn. Questions and ideas, all thanks to Lucifer, remained unanswered. He was backhanded by God Herself for asking questions that doubted and undermined Her and Her creations. At the end of the day, he was Raphael, an archangel, a disgrace for standing with a traitor. Though he never fought and kept his hands to himself, only his words were as a weapon, he still faced backlash. 

When the dust had settled, the rebellion crumbled, and angels getting punished, Raphael eventually disappeared. No angel answered why; some didn’t know but the ones who could’ve known were quiet about it. His followers dispersed, eventually not knowing why exactly they came together to study stars and their creation when there were already groups of angels already dedicated to that specifically. All the words spoken were of Lucifer turned Satan and his rule over Hell and the birth of demons as a punishment for rebelling and deeds too horrible to allow an angel to remain holy. 

So only 6 archangels remained. The stars were no longer getting created. 

There were only ever 6 archangels. The stars were created by the archangels and angels alike. A feat of their teamwork and talent. 

There was never once an archangel that went by the name of Raphael. 

There was never once an angel that went by the name of Raphael. 

The name Raphael was forgotten by the angels of Heaven and demons of Hell. 

Raphael? Who was Raphael?


	2. Chapter One

So a demon and an angel walked into a bar… 

Sounds like the start of a lame biblical joke, right? Well, maybe another day because an angel and a demon  _ did actually _ walk into a bar together. The demon held the door for the angel and  _ let him go first _ . Not a trick or an air of disgust in sight. 

Some excuse of a joke, huh… 

No, it was just Crowley and Aziraphale going for lunch at a bar not far from Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

It was a few years after Armageddon and they had fallen into a normal way of life. Or as normal as life could allow a demon and an angel. It was normal to them so that’s what counted. 

A lady seated them at a booth and wrote down what drinks they wanted — Crowley two beers and Aziraphale a glass of water — before heading off to give them more time to decide on their orders. 

“ — Crowley?” 

“Hmm? Yes, angel?” 

Aziraphale looked concerned. “I asked if something was wrong. You were staring at nothing again.” 

“Oh, sorry for that, angel. Just lost in my mind.” 

“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” 

“First of all, Aziraphale, I don’t get sick. I don’t know about angels but demons don’t catch feeble human illnesses.” Crowley internally flinched on how cross he sounded with his friend but he squashed the feeling. He was a demon, it was what he did. Plus, his bouts of going from nice to mean should be normal by now. 

“Yes, and a human has to worry about burning their feet going into a church or getting hurt severely from a couple of drops of holy water,” Aziraphale huffed sarcastically. 

Crowley glared over the rims of his shades. Angels could be destroyed by hellfire but he wasn’t planning to spout that nonsense just because he felt like properly countering Aziraphale’s point. Though maybe the point was that churches and holy water are encountered more often than hellfire. He could start making hellfire more common. 

Their waitress returned not long later. She wrote down Aziraphle‘s order for some special chicken chunks and Crowley’s order for some bread off the appetizer menu. If she noticed the silence and tension between her customers, she remained quiet about it. Though she wasn’t afraid to voice her thoughts on just having bread for lunch. 

_ “I must admit, it’s an unusual meal, sir. Are you sure you want it?” _ she had exclaimed in some ridiculous mixed English and southern American accent. 

Crowley was tight-lipped. He had smiled sharply and simply nodded his head. 

Azirapahle stared at him with eyes barely hiding their concern after their waitress left. He wasn’t concerned for Crowley’s eating habits, no the demon hardly ate anything and mostly drank liquids containing caffeine or alcohol. Crowley was aware. Aware of his consuming habits. He was also aware of other habits that have seemed to return, like his habit to sleep excessively when there was absolutely nothing to do or when he wasn’t needed. He did pretty much sleep through the nineteenth century. 

“I was never a big church-goer anyway,” Crowley mumbled before picking up his glass and drinking a few long gulps of his generic beer. 

Aziraphale’s blue eyes snapped up to him. He remained silent because what else was there to say? 

Crowley  _ had _ said in the past that he didn’t mean to Fall, he more or less sauntered his way to Hell, and he just hung around the wrong crowds. That was the easiest way to put it. Easiest way especially when he didn’t really remember his time as an angel. There were… brief glimpses he saw in his dreams… but even they didn’t show much. 

It probably wouldn’t be hard to tell Aziraphale why Crowley found sleep so enticing recently. He just wanted to know what he was like an angel — what it was like to  _ be _ an angel — and sleeping seemed to be a way he could find out. He didn’t want a spiel from Aziraphale, he wanted his own experiences. He saw bits in his sleep but there was hardly enough there to properly piece anything together. 

“If there’s something wrong, you  _ can _ tell me.” 

Crowley’s upper lip curled. 

“Don’t give me that look, dear. It’s unbecoming on you.” 

“I just need a nap.” 

“So your slumber this morning – the one  _ after _ coffee, that is – was what?” 

“Am I not allowed to sleep?” Crowley demanded tiredly. It wasn’t the tired as in he could go for another nap like he wanted. It was the type of tired that came with hating the conversation. 

Aziraphale shrugged. He took a sip of his water through the straw the waitress gave him. “I suppose you are. But not yet. I’d like to stop by the grocer on the corner to get some frozen peas so we can feed the ducks right after. I’m sure they would appreciate that.” He nodded to himself. “It’ll also be for your benefit.” 

Crowley grumbled and pulled his coat around him tighter. “Ducks are probably off. Didn’t want to get trapped in the cold…” 

“Nonsense! Saw them by the edge of the water the other day. They looked hungry.” Their waitress was returning with their meals. “Though you wouldn’t know because you were napping when I went on a walk the other day.” 

“Did I hear the mention of ducks?” the woman piped up. She put a basket of some rolls in front of Crowley. “I saw them in the park on my way home the other day. Surprised they haven’t flown off yet!” 

Aziraphale perked up. Probably glad someone was actually ready to talk about overlapping interests. “Right! My friend and I are going to purchase some peas after we eat to go feed them.” 

“Oh, how nice! Glad there are some people still in the world who care for animals like them.” 

Crowley hunched over and started picking at his bread uncomfortably. A man of his height couldn’t pull off the slouch he was performing but he made it work very well. It screamed  _ please don’t talk to me I am very uncomfortable and if you dare talk to me I will scream _ . Perhaps if that lady tried to talk to  _ him _ about  _ ducks _ then he may actually scream. Bad enough his companion willingly feeds the birds so they don’t go off and catch the bugs they are supposed to eat. They are most likely still only around because a certain angel keeps feeding them because he thinks those poor, poor creatures can’t catch  _ bugs _ to eat. 

Crowley ignored the talk about  _ ducks _ and focused on his bread. It was soft and a cinnamon butter was provided to slather on it. He probably wasn’t going to put the butter on it; he didn’t even want to eat any of it… It was just that going to restaurants and bars without eating anything sometimes made both he and Aziraphale feel out of place and usually their server seems put off by it. Though by ordering an odd choice made Crowley even more uncomfortable because their server thought it too odd to be an actual meal. 

Their waitress left eventually and Crowley started to pay attention again. Aziraphale was turning the chicken over in its basket, studying it. Neither of them were much of cooks but the better of them had to be Aziraphale. He actually cared about what he cooked and strived to make it taste as best as possible. That wasn’t saying Crowley couldn’t cook, though. No, he could… It just had to be straight from a book with no expectations of it having a personal touch or actually tasting good. 

“Up to par, angel?” Crowley hummed as he took a small bite of roll. He straightened in his seat so it could go down with more ease. 

Aziraphale didn’t answer until he had taken a bite of the chicken. His eyes seemed to light up right after tasting it. 

“Yes,” he nodded happily. “It has a sweet flavor but it’s not overbearing.” 

Because Aziraphale would know. Six thousand years is a lot of years to try food and understand what is good or not. And Aziraphale was the professional among them. He’s had years upon years to try basically everything. Crepes was definitely a favorite of his. Didn’t take a genius to see that when he was almost discorporated for it in France. 

Crowley could say that he himself had a taste for his beverages. Alcohol, specifically. No, he wasn’t an alcoholic. He just had an appreciation for  _ alcoholic _ beverages. With his experience he could probably make a wine to get an angel or demon drunk within the first half of a bottle. 

The stuff he ordered today? Cheap and disappointing and watered down. 

“And your bread?” 

“Bread.” 

Aziraphale smiled at that. It was small and short, admittingly, but it reached his eyes and that was the most important thing. 

Crowley played with his bread for as long as it took Aziraphale to eat the amount of chicken that pleased him. The waitress came by with a takeout box so he just dumped his basket in there so Aziraphale could eat them instead of Crowley just throwing them away when they left the bar, or in the park, or when he returned to his flat. She eventually returned with the bill, they paid, then they left. 

They didn’t do much chatting on their way to the store. They made comments about the cold weather – which Crowley felt himself get colder just  _ thinking _ about how much the wind would drop the temperature if it picked up. That was mostly it until they got to the store and went to the frozen foods aisle. 

The angel decided that was the best time to have an epiphany about the peas he was previously purchasing. Crowley had stood there sputtering. The ducks ate unsanitary bugs when the angel and demon weren’t around to feed them, why should the fact they were getting partially artificial peas matter? 

To deal with that stress, he wandered off to the center of the store in an attempt to find the warmest place and stay there until his angel was ready to leave. He looked a bit odd, in all black, surrounded by colorful and bright clothes but he didn’t care. It was warm where he was and he would almost rather be damned back to Hell than go back outside to freeze and mope.  _ Almost. _

He sulked for a solid twenty minutes before a familiar voice was calling out to him. 

“Crowley – ? Oh. There you are.” The angel came up from behind and put a light hand on a bony elbow. “Looking for something for a partner in your life?” 

Crowley startled and felt some heat enter his cheeks. “U-Uhm. No, angel. Just found the warmest place to wait for you…” 

Aziraphale grinned and showed off the bag of peas that he chose. “Well I found them while you were  _ browsing the women’s lingerie _ . Let’s go. We have some hungry ducks to feed.” 

“Right…” 

The demon sulked next to the angel all the way from outside the store to the park. He scrunched his shoulders and braced himself feebly against the cold. His side touched Aziraphale’s the entire way but the angel never complained so he assumed it was alright. He made sure to cast an atmosphere around them so maybe they would appear inconspicuous and be overlooked so he wouldn’t be seen cuddling up to an angel. 

St James’s Park was a bit on the bare side. Not only were the trees nearly missing all their leaves but there were even fewer people around than normal. Probably all chased away by the cold weather… they were the smart people. Crowley was sure that if they were dressed the same as him and at the park at the same time, he would still be colder than them. 

“Ah, look! They’re waiting!” Aziraphale exclaimed with some excitement. He broke away from Crowley’s side to reach the water’s edge and greet the ducks. 

Crowley followed because he desperately missed the warmth that Aziraphale had provided. He didn’t care how touchy he appeared to be because all he wanted was to be warm. His angel could provide some of that warmth as long as the demon behaved while he was stuck to the other’s side. 

Aziraphale happily tossed the frozen peas to the birds and made cutesy noises when they ate. At one moment, he took a handful and pushed them toward the demon. 

“Throw them some, they’ll love that. Also, this way you won’t be glowering and blaming them for the weather they obviously didn’t choose,” he said. 

Crowley took the peas and began to throw them to the ducks one by one. He was specific in aiming at their heads, though they didn’t care since it was food. “Not blaming them for the weather. Blaming them for not going someplace warmer so you didn’t have to worry about feeding them in the cold,” he grumbled. 

Aziraphale just smiled, shrugged, and turned his attention back to the birds. He threw more peas out, giving some to Crowley at times, until he ran out of peas to throw and he crumbled the bag up and stuck it in a pocket. He looked pleased with himself. It reminded Crowley that part of the reason he left his flat – it wasn’t just because Aziraphale kept bothering him about sleeping so much – was because he wanted to see Aziraphale happy doing something that he enjoyed (which was, unfortunately, feeding the ducks but Crowley could complain about that later). 

Aziraphale nodded his head and looked to Crowley. “Are you cold?” 

“A bit.” 

The question was unnecessary because Crowley was shaking like a dead leaf on a tree in the wind and Aziraphale could see that. His coat was something for the early fall season, not quite for the start of winter or anything colder. He could easily purchase a heavier coat or miracle one up but he just didn’t want to. It was easier to hide in his flat under a mountain of blankets with his heat up to as comfortable as possible than get a winter coat that he would be swimming in. 

A look of thought crossed Aziraphale’s face. A moment later, he took off his coat and put it over the demon’s shoulders. “Wear this for now. It’s probably not much but it  _ has _ to be something better. We should look at getting proper winter coats soon.” 

Crowley felt his cheeks heat right up after that. Aziraphale was particular about his coat so him putting it on Crowley was an immense show of trust. There was some remaining warmth in it that the demon snuggled into discreetly. It smelled like the angel, too. 

“Let’s head back to the bookshop. I’ll make us some biscuits and something warm to drink.” 

Aziraphale linked their arms, patting Crowley and smiling at him momentarily. He led the way back to the bookshop, providing some heat for the demon. Crowley was aware his cheeks were probably pink or red but he knew he’d be able to blame it on the cold. Even Aziraphale’s nose was a bit pink so Crowley’s cheeks could be blamed for the same thing. 

Aziraphale’s bookshop was warm and comfortable. Over the past few years the angel and demon have spent more time with each other, almost daily. The place they usually hung out was the bookshop so Aziraphale had added some things in the backroom for them to relax in. The main addition was a brown polyester sofa along a wall that occasionally sat books when Crowley wasn’t around. Other things were just side tables and a coffee table, each sometimes filled with books that were also there only when Crowley wasn’t around. 

The angel unlocked the door to the bookshop and locked the door once again after them. He clapped his hands together and went for the thermostat hidden in the backroom, the demon following him. He pressed some buttons and nodded. When he turned back to Crowley, who had settled on the couch, he nodded. 

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go make some tea,” the angel said brightly. 

“Sure,” Crowley grumbled. He huddled in his layers as he waited for the temperature to rise more. It was already warmer than his own flat. 

Aziraphale had gone upstairs to his flat, Crowley could vaguely hear him walking around above. It was soothing enough to lull him into a light slumber. 

A hand on his shoulder later woke him. He twitched and mumbled as he started to turn. The familiar prick of his skin all over his body alerted him that he had transformed from his snake scales back to human skin.  _ That _ spurred him into waking up faster. 

He clearly sat up too fast because Crowley took a cautious step back, almost tripping over the coffee table. Crowley wanted to reach out and grab his wrists just to make sure he wouldn’t fall but instead he focused on rubbing his face with his hands. Besides, he’d probably aid in helping spill the tray the angel carried instead. 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale immediately asked. 

“Yes, yes. Sorry to frighten you, angel…” Crowley muttered. He looked down and was reminded of wearing the angel’s coat. He was plenty warm now, the room having heated up. 

“You weren’t quite a serpent but you were on your way…” 

“I do that sometimes.” Crowley looked up. Aziraphale didn’t look scared. Only slightly worried as he poured cups of tea and adjusted the plate of biscuits he just made. And it wouldn’t make sense why he would be afraid – they did meet when Crowley was Crawly and just changing from his serpent form – but it would at the same time – since not everyone has a demon friend who will occasionally change forms in his sleep. At least Aziraphale wasn’t aware of Crowley’s eternal fear of forgetting how to change and getting stuck in his serpent form. 

Crowley took off the coat and jacket and hung them over the back of the couch. He was then offered a cup of tea and a biscuit that was more or less shoved into his free hand. The biscuits were sweet — not overly, but close — and the tea was sharp. 

The demon smacked his lips together after taking a sip of tea. “What kind of tea is this, angel?” 

“Lemon balm. Just thought I’d try it. It’s supposed to be calming. Can’t say that the flavor works with the biscuits very well, though,” Aziraphale admitted. 

Crowley thought the tea wouldn’t work well with anything but he didn’t want to say that in case the angel took it wrong. He was sure the tea was great to any tea connoisseur but it wasn’t for him. He doubted Aziraphale somehow prepared it wrong. So instead, he said, “I think you’re right.” 

But the biscuits were good and he was pretty sure Aziraphale knew he thought so. Of course he only ate one. Maybe it’d be more polite if he ate more – despite being a demon (that meant there was really no point in being polite) – but he’d rather keep drinking the tea, so he did. It still didn’t get any better but he thought if he concentrated hard enough he could imagine it was black coffee or alcohol without miracling it into one of those. It… passed. It was no alcohol or black coffee but it didn’t taste like lemon balm anymore. 

“Crowley, I said you don’t have to keep drinking it. If you’re desperate for a drink I can go make you something,” the angel sighed. 

“No, I can drink this.” 

Aziraphale tipped his head forward and looked doubtful but he didn’t say anything. 

Crowley finished and set the cup down on the coffee table. He sat back on the sofa and sank into the cushions as he let – or tried to let – the tea calm him like it was supposed to. It sat warm in his stomach, which was nice. Although the flavor left a bad taste in his mouth which in turn made his stomach just the slightest upset as it combined with the sweet biscuit. 

They were quiet for a time after that, enjoying one another’s company. Eventually Aziraphale got up, picking up the trey, biscuits, and cups he brought down then returned to go through some books he kept in the backroom. Crowley was content to watch him until he got too comfortable and napped again. 

It was Aziraphale to wake him — again. He didn’t look concerned for once, thank whatever for that. He smiled gently at the demon before walking off again but only for a few seconds to grab and place a rolled up blanket on the demon’s lap. 

“If you’re going to sleep, at least be comfortable doing so.” Aziraphale sighed when the demon only stared at the blanket so he picked it up and unraveled it. Faux fur, by the looks. Navy blue with a spiral cream design. He threw it back on the demon’s lap. “So, yes, feel free to sleep. I won’t fuss about it.” 

Crowley was very unsure. Part of it was because he knew Aziraphale knew the amount he was sleeping was abnormal and the other part was because he felt slightly rude for sleeping so much in the angel’s company. It was one of the days Aziraphale didn’t have the shop open and here Crowley was trying to sleep the day away. But the angel didn’t know he actually slept a lot during the winter and sometimes fall. It took some effort keeping his blood as warm as a human’s, plus keeping human form added to that. Angels and demons didn’t need to sleep but they needed breaks to rest and Crowley found that sleeping was not only enjoyable but it also gave him his needed rest. 

He obliged, eventually. He laid down on his side, pulling the blanket over him as he decided to watch Aziraphale make rounds around the back room. The shelves were pretty much as full as the ones in the main room so there wasn’t really much to do, in Crowley’s opinion, but if Aziraphale wanted to rearrange then he could do so. 

Crowley woke up the next morning, his glasses sitting neatly on the coffee table, his clothes rumpled, and the blanket twisted around him awkwardly. A look around the room revealed he was alone so he lamely wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and set about righting himself as best as possible to return to his place. 

Aziraphale wasn’t in the main room of the bookshop so Crowley quietly let himself out. He braced himself against the morning chill that hit him and moved through the streets until he was at his flat, changing his current set of dark clothes to another set and left the flat again. 

St James’s Park was possibly one of the pair’s favorite meeting places because of the ducks and Aziraphale’s love for feeding them. Crowley enjoyed it because of its size and the ability to make people not care about others in their vicinity. There were other things to focus on than a man in all black lurking by the edge of the water. Wouldn’t be as odd as the time when he and a man in all white were hollering at each other before disappearing suddenly. There were definitely odd times and even odder times. 

So when the man suddenly disappeared, no one questioned how he had been standing by the water’s edge and then a blink later he wasn’t in sight with no trail to where he could’ve gone. Where he stood, though, was a little black snake with a red belly that slunk its way into some nearby bushes. No one saw it and if anyone had, they most likely wouldn’t know that snakes didn’t live in England and that specific type of snake was native to Australia. 

It felt good to be a serpent. It was a form forced onto Crowley, his golden slit eyes were proof. If he could change them, he would, but they were a sign of what he truly was and they were a form of punishment for Falling. As a snake, though, they fit. Maybe a few centuries back he could’ve gotten away with living life as a serpent but not any longer, he supposed. Things were way too civilized and he had grown too accustomed to humans and their traditions. 

Being the size of a garter snake, he easily slunk around in the vegetation. He followed his nose (or basically his demon sense) until he found a couple having a picnic on a cliche red and white checkered blanket. He could taste the lust rolling off both of them in waves. Working some demon magic, he lightly prodded at them with his senses to encourage their feelings so maybe they would act on them later. 

He slithered away to hide at the base of a tree near a vacant bench for some time. A businessman sat down eventually. He talked on the phone with energy that Crowley recognized. The man wanted power and he was greedy for it. Who was to say that maybe he would possibly get the perfect opportunity for a raise if he trampled some of his coworkers for it? It was just an idea but a  _ very _ persistent one that was gently pushed into his head. 

A bush was the next place for Crowley to hide in. It was safe for the time being. No birds were around so he didn’t need to make himself appear smaller. 

Why exactly was Crowley at the park and doing demon things despite rejecting Hell? Well, he still identified as a demon. Just because Hell didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, that didn’t mean he couldn’t tempt any longer or push people to go after their lusts. It was better than stealing or killing. He really enjoyed doing that, stealing. Besides, it was like telling Aziraphale to stop being nice or donating to people who needed it. It was like a basic thing ingrained into Crowley. 

He turned to find his next victim when something warm wrapped around the majority of his body. He hissed in surprise and recoiled as best he could. When that didn’t work out too well, he tightened his little body around what had grabbed him until he was looking up at Aziraphale. 

“What are you doing here?” the angel demanded in a whisper. He smiled nervously at a passerby when they gave him a look. 

Crowley gave a little hiss as he was adjusted so he could easily wrap around the angel’s offered fingers. 

_ “Demon thingsss…”  _ he hissed as best as he could. 

“There’s no need to! Let the people be, they let us be. Besides, we don’t want to be attracting the attention of Heaven and Hell when they previously let us go.” 

_ “Telling me to sstop isss like telling you to sstop donating to the needy…” _

“Well I’m doing something that’s good!” 

_ “And I’m doing ssomething that’ss in my nature…” _

“Unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you,” Aziraphale sighed. He brought his free hand up to block some of the breezes that were hitting Crowley. The little snake was coiled quite tightly around his fingers due to the cold. “Well are you satisfied with your work?” 

The little serpent nodded. 

“Good. Get in my pocket.” At that, Aziraphale brought his hands up to the breast pocket. The serpent glanced at him but went from hand to the pocket, briefly not visible until his little head poked up. “I must show you something.” 

There was a rustle and soon enough the angel was pulling out a newspaper and flipping through some of the pages until he found what he wanted. 

“It’s a cottage, located on the South Downs. I think we should get it. A nice little place away from the city when we need it. We can still own our respective places; your flat and my bookshop. But this place can be for…  _ us _ .” 

Crowley felt his little serpent-sized heart flutter. He never thought to get property with Aziraphale. Something that was under both of their names so they could properly live together for the rest of their lives. The past few years were them spending nearly every day together but continually returning to their own places until their next meeting the next day or so. A cottage to call their own sounded… nice. 

_ “I like that…” _ Crowley admitted quietly. He looked up and saw that Aziraphale’s cheeks were a rosy color. It was adorable. 

“That’s uh… great. I shall see about the property. Perhaps I can schedule a visit. Would you like to come?” 

_ “I think it’d be besst if you went alone…” _

“That’s fine. I’ll be sure to check out the place thoroughly and ask the necessary questions. The ad already sounds very nice. I’m sure the people will gladly answer our questions. And it’s actually on the edge of Tadfield, believe it or not. How great. We can check up on those people very often. We’ll be the little odd couple in the wilderness of town that the town folks tell the children to ignore.” 

_ “Great, angel…” _ Crowley decided to make himself bigger, making his way from Aziraphale’s pocket to his shoulders and wrapping his tail around one of the angel’s arms. It was colder than the angel’s pocket but he wanted to wrap himself around his angel. Be… showy. Not everyone could walk around with a snake on their shoulders, especially one that understands English. 

Aziraphale nodded shakily. “Yes, great.” He raised a hand and carefully rubbed his thumb on the top of the serpent’s head, roaming to touching lightly under his eyes with two fingers like one might do to a cat. His administrations were so featherlight, it — admittingly — felt nice. 

“You are something…” Aziraphale murmured _(t_ _ o himself) _ . 

Crowley preened at the compliment. He made himself just a bit bigger so he could wrap more of his tail around Aziraphale’s arm. It earned him a bashful smile. Oh, his angel was too beautiful. 

“What would you say to a walk around the park and possibly some shops?” Aziraphale suggested. Golden-slitted eyes turned to him curiously. “Get some more fresh air and change of scenery?” 

_ “You want to sshow me off…” _ Crowley stated. 

“I!” Aziraphale looked taken aback from the start of his defense. He quickly shook his head and steeled himself. “I do not! I just wish to spend time with you. You won’t have to do the walking. You only have to talk if you want to and keep me company. This way it is very easy to do so.” 

_ “You can admit I’m a pretty sssnake,” _ Crowley teased.  _ “Wearing a living venomous ssnake without it biting you iss quite the sstatement. But I’d be glad to, angel.” _

Aziraphale looked relieved but there was no hiding the color that had started to touch his cheeks. 

“Great.” 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> potential trigger warning for torture

A feather woke him. Or maybe it was a knock on the front door. Or maybe it was his conscious finally releasing him from the recurring dream of him Falling. 

He was no longer sleeping, that was the important thing. He no longer had to suffer through the fire licking at his wings nor scream silently with a hoarse voice. The smell of sulfur and wet basement was merely a memory again. 

The visitor knocked on Crowley’s front door again, causing him to groan and clumsily roll out of bed. His wings were out and stubbornly so. They were sore from being tucked away for so long and not having the once-blood feather wax broken. But that didn’t mean they had the right to appear when they wanted. _ Later _ , Crowley thought to himself, _ I’ll deal with them _. 

He willed them away as he shuffled through his flat to the front door. The floors were too cold on his bare feet. His feelings of discomfort amplified when he looked through the peephole and saw that it was Aziraphale at his door. It didn’t help that his sleep clothes consisted of his boxers and an old Queen shirt. Meanwhile, Aziraphale was dressed as nicely as ever in his pale clothes and spotless coat. 

_ Hell… _ Crowley swung the door open just as Aziraphale was poised to use the snake door knocker again. He looked surprised for some reason. 

“Yes, angel?” Crowley grumped. He stepped aside as an invitation in. 

“Oh, good morning, Crowley!” Aziraphale said (too) cheerily. He stepped into the flat, heading toward the kitchen counter as Crowley closed and locked the door behind him. “It’s been a few days. Hope you’ve been doing well.” 

“As well as a demon can be, I suppose…” Crowley slunk back to his bedroom to put on his glasses, a sweatshirt, and sweatpants. Aziraphale was seated on a stool when he returned. 

“That’s great. I’ll admit that I was a bit lonely the past few days but I understand if you need to be alone from time to time. I actually put a good amount of books away,” Aziraphale hummed. “And I visited the cottage!” 

“Did you, now?” Crowley wondered. He pulled out a glass from a cupboard – Aziraphale shook his head when Crowley motioned to a second one – and filled it mostly with orange juice that was _ miraculously _ in the fridge and a bit of leftover vodka from the last time he drank it. That was what, probably an exact week ago? Wouldn’t be surprising. 

The angel blinked at the drink and demon for only a moment before he brightened up again. “Yes! It is quite quaint. It has all the things a house needs and a lawn a dog would run laps and laps and laps around!” 

“Uh… angel, we don’t have a dog.” 

“No, but you should get my point. I’m sure neither of us has ever owned any property besides our flats. It’s a lawn, Crowley! And there are all the usual appliances that we’d need in a house with plenty of space so we won’t be running into each other at all hours of the day – Crowley, we could get a garden! Think of the things you could grow for me to cook!” 

Crowley smiled at the angel’s enthusiasm. He secretly enjoyed the angel’s faith in his abilities but he also knew the angel didn’t support how he treated his plants. They were the most luscious in London because he inspired them with fear. Treating them nicely would wield the same results, according to Aziraphale. Though that wasn’t very fun. Scaring the plants entertained him and allowed him to release some of his pent-up frustrations. 

But growing things for Aziraphale… that sounded nice. He’d get to yell at plants and the produce then created would be put to use. It almost made more sense than growing show-level house plants for only one demon to see.

“What did you say to the person?” Crowley wondered. 

“I told him I’m interested, of course. I told him I needed to talk to my partner about it before any decision is made,” Aziraphale admitted and Crowley almost choked on his drink. “So what’s your opinion?” 

Crowley recovered after a few coughs. “It sounds good. Uhm. Yes. I like the sound of it. Sounds great.” 

Both of their cheeks were tinged with pink. They were quiet in the kitchen, mostly sizing each other up. Aziraphale, remembering himself, sat straighter suddenly and held up the black fabric he had hung over an arm. Strange how Crowley didn’t bother to notice it when the angel first walked in. 

“I have your jacket. You left it last time you were in.” The angel set the jacket on the counter. His hand lingered on it and Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off the sight. 

“Thanks, angel.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll make sure to contact the owner. Tell them that we are very interested but may need another visit.” 

Crowley nodded. “I think that would work.” 

“Sounds great,” Aziraphale echoed Crowley’s earlier words. “Well, I do think I’ll get out of your hair now. Which, you do seem to have a feather there…” 

Crowley grunted and ran his hands through his short hair until a little black feather fluttered onto the counter. He stared at it with internal venom. 

The angel got up and pushed in his stool and headed for the door. The demon followed him, unlocking the door and stepping back to let his ‘partner’ leave on his own terms. The angel seemed pleased with that. He smiled again and gave Crowley a kiss on his forehead and began to let himself out. 

“Take care of yourself, dear, and remember to call if you need me or anything.” 

“Of course, angel,” Crowley hummed as his cheeks began to gain color again very quickly. 

Aziraphale flashed a smile once more before he was out the door. Crowley’s wings immediately appeared when he locked the door again, he practically stumbled. Stupid things… 

He spent over an hour, sitting on the kitchen counters, sipping his mixed drink as he focused on his molting feathers. Annoying little buggers but he knew they would feel better afterward. Maybe that was the reason why so many angels seem to have sticks up their asses. Maybe their wings were irritated because they needed to molt and most angels and incapable of taking care of their wings. It took time, sure, but it wasn’t that angels had anything better to do except sit on their asses and yell at each other. 

At the end of it, his fingers were covered in the black wax from his wings and pin feathers. He headed to the bathroom to wash them off. The warm water and some soap washed away the wax well enough. It felt like some of it remained on his fingers but a quick dry-off from the hand towel should fix it. 

When drying his hands, Crowley felt all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a sudden breeze blew over. Panic set in immediately. His flat didn’t get drafts and he could sense a presence in the other room. Heaven and Hell were supposed to leave them alone… if this was a visit by the angels, he was doomed. If it’s a visit by the demons, hell, he was still doomed because he no longer had any holy water to defend himself. 

Crowley took a step out of the bathroom when something slammed into the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. His ears rang as he turned over and looked up and Hastur and a demon he has not seen in a long, long time. Aeshma. 

Aeshma was a demon like Hastur is and Ligur was. They belonged to a certain time and refused to change, and their time knew of killing, blood, and vengeance. See, Aeshma was interpreted by humans and was related to things of war, fury, and blood. They were almost of a standing like Azrael (uh, Death) was. No demon enjoyed working with them, even Hastur looked uncomfortable as he stood next to his bulky companion. 

“Hastur, sooooo good to see you. And here I thought you’d never show your face again. I had thought ‘such a shame, I am going to miss my friend so very dearly’!” Crowley spat. 

“Shut it, Crowley,” Hastur grumbled. He motioned to his companion, who stepped forward and put a boot on the downed demon’s chest. “The angels may leave your best friend alone but Beelzebub thought we shouldn’t leave loose ends up here.” 

Crowley snarled and showed his teeth. He then turned his head to look up at Aeshma. The demon was hulking in size. It was a surprise they haven’t crushed Crowley yet. 

“And Aeshma. Long time, no see. How has Hell been treating you?” 

Aeshma’s skin looked golden. They looked like a true Fallen. Patches of golden skin, crusted with pollution from Hell. Once probably an angel who had a following then lost it all. Looks like that, they could’ve been a very loved angel. And if Crowley remembered correctly, they had some golden teeth that were forever rotting in some places to remind Aeshma of what they once were. 

“I seem to be getting by better than you. It’s a shame to see how far you’ve gone. And for Heaven and Hell to pardon you and whatever you run around with… an even bigger shame,” they growled and briefly added weight to Crowley’s chest. It was heavy enough to force the breath out of him. 

“Take it easy, Aeshma. Abbadon must arrive.” 

“Then wait no longer.” 

Crowley felt his stomach drop as he slowly looked up and saw the angel. Abbadon, angel of the abyss. A worthy angel in battle. He honestly didn’t know much about her. He just knew that she could very easily tear him apart but he also knew that the appearance of an angel in his flat was not a good thing. Well, Aziraphale is an exception but Aziraphale was like no other angel. 

Aeshma and Abbadon looked at each other. They could have a great battle but a shared interest kept them from doing so. It didn’t take a genius to see that. 

“Hastur, how nice of you to invite an angel. I know three of us are demons but I’m sure we can find an activity to do that won’t kill us permanently,” Crowley goaded the duke. 

“Funny you say that Crowley, because there’s only one of us who is going to die permanently,” Hastur returned. 

Abbadon cleared her throat. “The tub?” 

Hastur nodded his head. 

“Then have some fun with him. If he puts up too much of a fight then he might cause issues.” 

“Aeshma.” 

The large demon reached down in a flash and grabbed Crowley by the neck. They lifted him off the ground effortlessly and slammed his back into the nearest wall. You know, the wall of his flat made from stone. All the air left him the first time he hit the wall. 

The moment Aeshma gave him a break was when Crowley realized he was in some serious shit. An angel meant holy water, especially if there was a tub involved. There was a tub of holy water in Hell waiting for him when he and Aziraphale switched places. And then Aeshma was here to throw his body around and Hastur was also here to get his revenge for what was done to Ligur. 

Poor Aziraphale. He was at the flat just about an hour ago, excitedly talking about the cottage he was interested in for _ them _. It was a future that Crowley had been looking forward to, despite showing whatever disinterest he had before. Six thousand years with his angel and they finally start to move forward then this. Shit, he needed a proper goodbye yet… 

Another slam against another of the stone walls brought Crowley back to reality. Right before a knife was embedded in his guts, removed, stabbed again, and then removed once more. He grunted and writhed in pain. The damn blade felt blessed, especially since the wounds were still burning afterward. 

“Bring him in.” 

Aeshma was in Crowley’s face right before his head was knocked around, losing his glasses in the process, as he was manhandled to the bathroom (a familiar shattering of his glasses were heard). Abaddon was there, standing next to the tub and looking pleased with herself. Her hands replaced Aeshma’s. It was just the two of them, if you didn’t count the two demons lurking in the doorway. One of her hands snaked to his hair and grabbed a fistful to move his head around and bare his neck briefly. _ So that’s how this was going to go. _

“Oh, uh, Crowley. Beelzebub sends their regards. They wished they could be here to see this.” Hastur grinned. 

“Tell them I miss ‘em,” Crowley retorted sourly. 

Abaddon had Crowley on the floor in the next moment, bending him backward over the edge of the bathtub. It tugged at his sore stomach. 

“Now, this tub is full of holy water but it’s not pure. It’s diluted. The goal isn’t to kill you yet. First, you suffer. Then, you’ll die by the water killing you from the inside. You know, the whole boiling from the inside thing,” the angel explained with a smile. “Your demon friends are here to make sure I do my job. So I’m sure neither of us are thrilled about that.” 

“Just do what we summoned you for,” Hastur growled. 

Abaddon flashed an unpleasant smile. She switched her hands around so she had both hands wrapped around the demon’s throat once more. “I’d say to take a deep breath but that’d be pointless in the end.” 

Crowley’s head was plunged into the water so he held his breath. It pricked his skin uncomfortably. It was like touching water on a burner. It started out warm that slowly heated to boiling. It was manageable until someone forced his hands out of the way and dug their fingers into his stomach wounds. That got him. He screamed and released all of his air and sucked in the diluted holy water. 

It burned going down. It was like inhaling cinnamon whiskey through his nose. Crowley struggled against Abaddon and one of the demons as he tried to get out of the water. It was no use. Touching the water and it entering his lungs was draining. He had to swallow everything that entered his mouth. 

Abaddon pulled him out. He sputtered and hacked, his raw lungs sore. His red hair was plastered to his forehead and he didn’t have the energy to whip his head around to get it out of his face. 

“Always great to see a headstrong demon get put back in their place,” Hastur hummed. 

Aeshma made a noise that sounded like an agreement. 

The angel tightened her hand on the demon’s throat once more and shoved him back under. It was just as harsh as before except worse. The little respite calmed his skin and then getting wet again just made it worse. His insides were still warm, heating up ever so slowly as more water was added and also sat in there. 

The remaining air bubbled out from Crowley. Water flooded his lungs when he tried to breath in but he was pulled out once more. 

“Funnel,” Abaddon ordered. There were some scraping noises and then Crowley’s mouth was forced open to accommodate a plastic tube. He felt some water spill out. Strange how he couldn’t feel it because his skin was becoming numb. 

Crowley was back under again, feeling awfully droopy. He thrashed as best as he could but he realized the funnel Abaddon spoke of was the thing in his mouth. The angel had him leaning over the water mostly, actually able to somewhat breathe, at the expense of pouring water straight down his throat through the funnel. Any more and it felt like he was going to burst. 

“Just think, Crowley… if you and that angel hadn’t interfered with Armageddon, you wouldn’t be going through this,” Hastur hissed from the doorway. “You could’ve been living your life as obliviously as possible.”

Crowley hurled. Or tried to. Water splattered from out of the funnel but it wasn’t enough to purge the amount already consumed. 

Maybe he blacked out for a bit because one moment they were drenching him with holy water and the next he was laying on the floor just in front of the bathroom, watching the demons and angel talk. They paid him no mind, even as his groans tumbled from his deadened lips. It looked like the demons were angry about something while the angel looked pleased with herself. Hastur expected Crowley to die right after. That was the only explanation. Hell, Crowley didn’t care. He just wanted them to leave so he could die in peace. 

Abaddon turned to look at him suddenly, a strange smile plastered on her face. She prowled away from her conversation with Hastur and Aeshma to kneel in front of the recently-tortured demon. “I didn’t know you felt that way, demon. You should’ve just said so.” She stood up gracefully. “Hastur, Aeshma; I believe our friend wants privacy to die alone. Why don’t we all leave to give him what he requests?” 

Hastur glared and Aeshma looked angry, as always (though they looked somehow calmer than normal). But Hastur eventually nodded and he was gone in a flash, Aeshma a second later. Abaddon nodded to herself, looked down at Crowley one last time, and was also gone. 

Crowley shifted on the floor, shifting in the puddle of diluted holy water that had clung to him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and selected one of the only contacts in his phone to call (he silently thanked phone companies for making modern phones at least water-resistant). It only rang a few times. 

_ “Hello? Crowley?” _ Aziraphale answered. 

Crowley had to find his voice. It was hard since it felt like he had water in him all the way up to his chin. “Aziraphale…” It came out as a wet, miserable sigh before he blacked out again. 

Hands, too cold, on his face, woke Crowley from whatever miserable slumber he was in as he rested on the floor. It took a great effort to open his eyes. And while they were blurry at first, it was hard to mistake the light hair and light clothes of Aziraphale. Also, no one else would be in his flat. The angel probably had to miracle the door to be unlocked to get in. Hastur, Aeshma, and Abaddon hadn’t used the door so it had been locked since Aziraphale was in the flat the first time. 

“Crowley… what – what happened?” Aziraphale breathed. 

His hands were still too cold, still on Crowley’s face. A shiver went through the demon, unable to control himself. He opened his mouth to speak but instead burning water came out and a tear glided down his cheek in response to the pain. 

Aziraphale noticed that and his panic increased. “Crowley, answer me, please! What happened, dear? What’s wrong? Why are you soaked?” 

Crowley had the decency to turn his head and throw up. It felt like his insides were boiling. The holy water felt worse coming back up, boiling his punished insides. Pure holy water was a better alternative to diluted holy water. Hastur sure got his revenge. Whether Crowley lived or died after this, he’ll have suffered thoroughly. 

“Hastur, Aeshma, Abaddon…” Crowley panted after a break from vomiting nothing but water. He groaned and let his body go limp. “And diluted holy water…” 

He didn’t see Aziraphale’s face with the way his head was tilted away but he could feel those cold, gentle hands removing his layers, then moving him out of the puddle he laid in for who knows how long. He didn’t have the energy to worry about modesty and Aziraphale was too frantic to also worry. Towels were getting wrapped around him, drying him hastily and screwing up his hair even more. He felt himself get lifted, wrapped in his plush black towels, and was soon deposited in his bed, covered by the thinnest sheet he owned. Aziraphale loomed over him, looking too worried. 

“You’re burning up, Crowley.” 

“Holy water does that…” 

Aziraphale did not enjoy that comment, his sour expression showed that. 

Crowley laid still yet his head spun. It made him dizzy and ready to puke again. But he stayed frozen, too weak to actually do anything but breathe and shiver. 

Aziraphale walked out of the room and returned, placing a cold cloth on the demon’s forehead. Crowley panicked for a moment, forgetting that his angel would never dare threaten his life with holy water like his other recent guests. But he still didn’t like the cloth because it was making him even colder, increasing his shivering. His squirming was pointless. 

“I know you don’t like this but it should help,” the angel murmured. Crowley managed to throw his head back in the plush pillows. “Stop that, it’s not good for you.” 

“Pump my stomach, angel…” he groaned. 

“I can’t do that, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with hurt in his voice. 

“Then get me something to puke in.” 

The angel moved right after that. There were sounds of him going through stuff (something he’d never do in Crowley’s flat under any other circumstance) until he returned. An unfamiliar bedpan was thrust under the demon’s chin and his hands were encouraged to take it as the angel helped him sit up. The movement sloshed water around in his insides but also caused another round of vomiting. The pain was becoming so unbearable, he didn’t know if he should be grateful or not for expelling it. 

“It fucking burns, angel…” Crowley groaned. His head felt foggy. Maybe he’ll be lucky and his brain will shut down first so he doesn’t have to suffer anymore. 

Aziraphale was rubbing between the demon’s shoulder blades comfortingly. “I’m sure it burns but don’t actually hope for your body to shut down.” 

With some assistance, Crowley was on his back again. The bedpan was miraculously empty and sitting on his lap. He felt like a right miserable sod and he wished Aziraphale didn’t have to see him in this state. Reduced to some jabbering demon on his deathbed. Full of diluted holy water. It was almost equivalent to Falling, come to think of it. Except Falling had probably been worse. His wings had been burned severely, enough so that his feathers became black. Then his eyes went through some sort of process where they became like the serpent’s they are now. Few years of that torture pass and he was gifted his serpent form until he figured out how to create his human-like form that he previously somewhat remembered. 

The angel’s blue eyes were on him and looking very worried. How much did he just say out loud? 

Aziraphale stood from the chair in the corner of the room and sat on the edge of the bed next to Crowley. He delicately took the demon’s nearest hand in his and brushed them softly. “Dear, maybe you should rest. Thinking appears to be your enemy at the moment.” 

Crowley stiffly nodded his head and finally allowed himself to relax. His angel would watch over him if Abaddon, Aeshma, or Hastur came back to finish the job. He trusted his partner. 

Crowley slept fitfully for a near solid day. At some point, Aziraphale got a fresh pair of boxers and tank top on him but he had sweated through them just like the sheets. Any moment that seemed like he was about to wake was just him making pained noises or time to just thrash around. It wasn’t until he actually woke up when he started to throw up again. 

The first time was awful. It woke the pain in his body. He let out an awful noise trying to get it out of him (and he’d be damned if he let it go through his human systems. No, he blocked all that off. He’s throwing up the damned water or dying from not getting it all out). He heard Aziraphale fret about how it was tinted a tad bit with blood. Perhaps the only good thing from the situation was the fever that finally took hold by the time he was throwing up the second time (spending time with Aziraphale was nice too but his brain was too addled to acknowledge that much). 

It reduced a lot of his pain but also reduced his mental state. He was too stupid to understand things Aziraphale talked to him about. He desperately tried to understand but he couldn’t so he talked back as best he could (complete and utter gibberish, according to Aziraphale). 

And during his nearly twenty-four-hour slumber, his wings had come out. Any time his wings corporealized without his doing so was annoying but this time it was just uncalled for. They made his squirming harder — effectively keeping him nearly completely still — and took up too much room. Aziraphale was hesitant to be near at first but then he warmed up and gently combed through the raven black feathers. It was heaven and hell all at once. 

Crowley didn’t know about angel wings (he’s forgotten that too about his angelic past) but his demon wings were sensitive. Demon wings were either too sensitive or only able to barely feel a thing. It was rare to find a demon whose wings retained the normal sensitivity of an angel’s (or he assumed). Although most demons didn’t have to worry about sensitive wings because they were always hidden and never, ever messed with. Wings that were once of an angel were too shameful for demons. 

Aziraphale was so light and careful with his administrations, they should’ve killed Crowley on the spot. His soft hands straightened as many feathers as possible before Crowley would shift, then would restart again after the demon stilled. Sometimes his hands drifted to the downy feathers near the bend of a wing. Those times he wanted to cry and chance he could’ve since his head wasn’t on right. Normally his wings straightened to keep people away but Aziraphale had probably seen it as an invitation and kept playing with them. 

Crowley’s stab wounds had fared well. In fact, they were closed and completely forgotten about when he woke up the first time. They were still sensitive but not really an issue. It was a bit fast, even for a demon, but neither of them complained about it. 

The second day came around and Crowley wasn’t aware at all. He was on his stomach for the duration, his head always near the edge of the bed to puke. He was starting to run out of liquid to throw up. 

The third day he was a bit lucid. His eyes no longer carried a faraway glint but he did seem to not be able to properly respond. He also puked less, which was a very good thing. Near the end of the day, Aziraphale managed to get him in the tub for a soothing bubble bath (the bath was washed thoroughly to make sure no holy water remained). And the bath may not have been the most soothing at first. Crowley had tried to bolt once or twice, never managing to actually do so, and his wings definitely tried causing problems by getting in the way. 

There was no puking the fourth day but Crowley’s fever got worse again in the morning then toned down in the evening. One would say it was a day Aziraphale did not appreciate. Crowley was pretty much dead to the world as the angel paced around the bedroom until Crowley showed signs up waking up after his temperature finally lessened. 

The fifth day finally came and Crowley was actually feeling decent. He still carried a bit of a temperature and his body was sore internally but he was fully conscious. 

Aziraphale was at his side the moment he opened his eyes. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like someone poured diluted holy water down my throat,” Crowley rasped. He grimaced when he started to move among the sheets for some cushions to sit up against. He gave up not long after. 

“Aside from that?” 

Crowley closed his eyes for seven seconds then opened them to look at the angel. “Not much else. Could go for a wash.” 

“I put you in a bubble bath the other day.” 

_ Bubble bath. How ridiculous. _ “Thanks, angel. But I do think a proper washing is needed.” 

Crowley then noticed his wings. They were fanned underneath him neatly and careful not to hang over the edge of the bed. He concentrated for a moment, willing them to decorporealize. They did so. 

Aziraphale helped Crowley to his feet and walked with him to the bathroom. The angel let the demon sit on the toilet seat lid as he prepared the tub for another bath but with cleaning supplies sitting outside of it. The angel then left the bathroom to give the demon privacy and prepared some black coffee for the demon and tea for himself. 

Crowley felt his heart spike as he lowered himself into the tub. There was nothing to worry about, he knew that deep down. Nothing bad happened the first time Aziraphale put the demon in. It didn’t hurt to be cautious. 

He relaxed in the water for a bit, not focusing on how it hurt to breathe or basically move. The temperature soothed him until it began to grow lukewarm. That was when he started to reach outside of the tub to grab shampoo, conditioner, and body wash so he could finally be clean again. He almost wanted to wash his wings, too. _ Almost. _ Those things decided to be an embarrassment during his time out, he was sure of it. They didn’t deserve a wash. 

Aziraphale was relaxing in the sitting room connected to the kitchen when Crowley came out in a fresh pair of dark joggers and a grey shirt with ‘WHISKEY MADE ME DO IT’ centered on the front. Crowley acknowledged Aziraphale’s smile before he headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. 

“You know you have scars on your back?” Aziraphale greeted

Crowley already had coffee in his mouth so his best response was: “Hmm?” 

“I noticed you have some peculiar scars on your back, a few lines beneath each wing. They look precise.” Blue eyes were on the demon. “It’s something you no longer remember?” 

“You’d be correct there, angel.” Crowley finished his first cup so he poured himself another and joined Aziraphale on the white leather couch. “What of the cottage?” 

“I told the owner you became ill but we are still interested. I was assured that we can reschedule,” Aziraphale responded. 

“Good, good…” 

Crowley turned on the television to some morning talk show. They talked about the weather and _ oh this person cheated on this person with this person _. Talks between two politicians were going well while people of another country were ready to start a war. Things were so fickle with humans. Six thousand years among them and not much has changed except for their technology. 

“When would you like to visit the cottage?” Aziraphale asked suddenly. 

Crowley looked over at the angel. His glasses weren’t on so he felt like Aziraphale’s stare was a bit intense. 

“Any day, angel.” 

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](https://deimos-phobos-space.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/radiantmoondino).  
  
Come say hi if you want. I don't really post but that's because I don't want to look like I'm ranting to an empty room. Or come bother me if I haven't posted in a while.


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